


Neutral Grounds

by Fr3nulum



Category: Hetalia: Axis Powers
Genre: Anal Fingering, Anal Sex, Angst with a Happy Ending, Body Appreciation, Bottom France (Hetalia), Emotionally Repressed, Historical Accuracy, M/M, Napoleonic Wars, Oral Sex, Porn With Plot, Porn with Feelings, Russia being emotional, Slightly rough, Top Russia (Hetalia)
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-07-29
Updated: 2019-07-29
Packaged: 2020-07-25 20:00:54
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 3
Words: 5,048
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20031514
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Fr3nulum/pseuds/Fr3nulum
Summary: The year is 1807, the battle of Friedland completely defeated the Russian army, and Napoléon came out victorious.Now came the time to make treaties of peace between France, Russia and Prussia. The Tilsit Treaties.Francis has been ordered to go make Ivan sign the agreements. It doesn't exactly go as planned though.





	1. Historical context

**Author's Note:**

> (Repost on AO3)
> 
> Oh my, does this fandom need more RusFra. It's quite surprising seeing how these two have such an interesting long lasting history together. I am sorry for the three chapters (though one is just historical context).
> 
> Regardless, thank you for reading. 
> 
> Also, if you are wondering why Ivan sometimes speaks French, it is because French was the world's language at the time, spoken by the elite and all "good" and sophisticated people in Russia knew how to speak French.

During the end of 1806 and throughout 1807, Napoléon Bonaparte came out successful of numerous battles against the Austrian, the Prussian, and the Russian army.

On October 14th 1806, the Prussians, led by King Frederick William of Prussia, lost against the French Emperor simultaneously at the battles of Jena and Auerstädt.

On June 14th 1807, the Russians, led by Tsar Alexander I, were pulverized by a surprising defense and counterattack at the battle of Friedland (now Pravdinsk in Russia).

In June 1807, the French cavalry occupied Tilsit (now Sovetsk in Russia).   
The Russian army was in no state of keeping the fight going, thus Tsar Alexander I suggested a peace treaty between himself and Napoleon, and then King Frederick William of Prussia and the French Emperor.

With the opportunity to gain and stabilize his power in Central Europe, and to keep isolating the British with hopes of Russia and Prussia to join the Continental System (economical system meant to isolate the British from trades and influence over western and central Europe), Napoléon agreed.

The treaty was signed between France and Russia on July 7th, and between France and Prussia on July 9th.


	2. Part I

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> (See end of chapter for translation.)

Ivan paced back and forth between his desk and the meridian on the other side of his white tent. 

The French army had the decency of putting up big makeshift tents for both armies on both banks of the Neman River.  
The large 'N' of his leader's enemy was shining in the dim light of the torches outside, in front of his own tent, on the other side of the river.

They too had their own symbol up front, an 'A', placed in front of the Tsar's tent. A nice touch of equality after such defeat from their part, the Russian noted, bitter. 

Ivan had also noted that his ally didn't get as much luxury though, none of these symbols for the Prussian's king. It made him faintly smile, thinking that Gilbert must be feeling much more humiliated than his Russian peers, although he didn't hate the Prussian that badly. He simply appreciated the thought of his part being treated better, especially coming from the French.  
Having his own superiority noted by 'him' compared to his « ally » gave Ivan a selfish sense of pride.

As much pride as he could have had left after what happened anyway. 

His faint smile soon faded as his rushing thoughts came back in, reminding him what was now expected of him and how he had now the responsibility to make things smoother for the sake of his Empire:   
Negotiations.

Ivan had always been a great and convincing speaker, he knew how to keep his calm during such situations. Yet, he knew that the man he now had to face also knew the little intricacies and viscous quirks of the art of speech. He wasn't in a situation of power neither, now.   
Hence his nervousness. 

It was getting late now, the sun had already set, and Ivan could hear soldiers slowly gaining back their own place, making a backing noise of fire, the sound of the water from the river, muffled conversations, sour laughter, and groans of exhaustion.

Ivan decided to light up the lamps and candles in his tent, and re-read his papers. He pull up his chair, and sat down, removing his olive green and black cap, loosening his golden laceon. 

That's when he heard some muttered words in Russian, a thick accent he immediately recognize.

« Войдите. » he said, slowly standing back up, straightening his coat.

« Bonsoir, Braginsky. » Francis entered, a small natural smile of calmness, and pride on his face. He took his own cap off, pressed it against his chest and gave Ivan a very slight, polite bow. 

His golden ponytail fell out onto the back of his neck. Francis hadn't had the times to take as much care of himself as per usual, obviously. Yet despite the few scratches on his face, he still looked less tired than the Russian in front of him.

Ivan returned the gesture.   
« Bonsoir, Bonnefoy. You are late, it seems. »

Francis stepped forward, and took a look around. They did make the effort to bring their nice furnitures after all this ruckus, he thought, as he noticed the desk, meridian and the bed.   
Francis gestured his hat towards the meridian next to him.   
« May I...? »

« Of course. » Ivan replied, as he walked behind Francis towards the entrance of the tent, knotting the laces together to close it up.

Francis, sat down on the meridian, his posture straight, not letting his eyes off of his now defeated rival.   
Ivan got back towards him, standing there, not sure as to how he should engage the conversation. Thankfully, Francis broke the silence.

« It has been quite the ride, hasn't it? »

« It has, indeed. »

'Quite the ride' was a terribly sour euphemism for Ivan, and Francis knew it. 

« You know what I am here for, Ivan, n'est-ce pas? »

« Bien sûr. » Ivan replied. Of course he knew. Ivan still hadn't completely got rid off of his accent, unfortunately, though what mattered is that he could speak properly. French is the kings' language, after all.

« I will make it quick then. We would like for you, and Beilschmidt, to join the Continental System. My boss has already talked about this with yours, and he already agreed. However, before signing this agreement, my boss still wants your written approval. »   
As he said so, Francis dug out of his coat pocket two letters, one of which he handed to the Russian, a large envelope with a golden 'N' and a little bee symbol. 

Ivan approached the smaller man in front of him, and took the letter from Francis's hand. But he didn't seems to want to let go of it. 

« I would advise you to sing it now, mon cher. » Francis said in a lower, yet amused tone.

Ivan didn't turn his eyes away from the taunting ones in front of him.   
« I would rather have the night to think about it, Francis. » he said, coldly. 

« You do not have much of a choice now, do you? » Threat started to pick through Francis's voice, feeling a bit nervous at the expected yet cold response.   
« We both know very well that none of us want to keep this fight going. Especially not you. » 

Ivan glared down at Francis. He did not like the man's superior tone, and yet he was the one in power at the moment. Ivan never hated Francis. In fact, he had always admired him. 

He loved him. 

And Francis knew it. And still, he acted as though he was completely oblivious of that, as though he had absolutely forgotten about Ivan's dedication a thoughts, a thing that was very unlike the Frenchman.

He was bitter. The feeling of defeat, jealousy and neglect came crawling up his back, tightening his throat. 

« What is that other letter for? » he asked, the both of them still holding the sealed letter.

Francis hesitated before answering. « That is none of your affair at the moment. » 

Anger. He felt his cold blood rush to his head in anger. Ivan's grip on the letter was getting stronger. « Tell me, how is that none of my business when the fate of my power and empire is at stake, Франция? »

Francis quickly got up at the angry tone of his opponent. The very man he had completely pulverized a day ago was now raising his voice and trying to make him bend to his rules?

He violently pushed the sealed letter onto Ivan's chest and leaned in, looking up to the now obviously upset Russian.

« Don't you dare raise your voice to me like this, Ivan. Fait très attention.   
I, could keep the battle going. But, could you? » 

Ivan hardly felt so sour before. Did Francis actually forgot about them?

He was about to crack when Francis pulled a French Flintlock pistol out of his inner pocket. He knew Francis could not shoot, otherwise things could go terribly, terribly wrong. For both sides. 

Francis still nervously pressed the pistol against the Russian's chest.   
« Please. Just sign the papers. » he breathed, keeping things relatively silent. 

Ivan looked down at the man in front of him, the end of the pistol digging into his dark green coat. 

He stared at Francis. This angered look, this lovely face that he had always appreciated was now turning against him, lovely blue eyes flaring aggressively at him with threat. 

That's when he lost it.

Ivan felt his face turn cold again, and his voice lower, faint.   
« .... Why do you hate me so much, Frashenka? »

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Translation:
> 
> Войдите= enter/ come in  
Bonsoir= good evening  
N'est-ce pas?= isn't it?/right?  
Bien sûr= of course   
Mon cher= my dear (male)  
Франция= France   
Fait très attention= be very careful   
Frashenka= a Russian nickname that comes for the name Francis, sign of familiarity.


	3. Part II

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> (See end of chapter for translation.)

Francis froze.

His blood stopped at the mention of his nickname. He hadn't heard the Russian pronounce it for years now.   
His eyes widen. He couldn't exactly make out the feeling behind Ivan's tone.

Francis pulled the gun away, a bit.

Ivan let his arm down to his side. He stood there, looking down at Francis, a blank, sad look on his face.   
Hesitantly, he put a gloved hand around the barrel of Francis's pistol and slowly pushed it downwards. Francis took a step backwards towards the meridian, on his guard. 

He had a hard time keeping his eyes on the Russian's, guilt slowly creeping down his chest. Francis put his pistol away, and let the other letter fall to the ground. In shock, and shame, his eyes lowered, and looked away to the side, lost in the warm light of the lamp.

« I never hated you, Ivan. » 

Ivan's eyebrow slightly raised in confusion.   
He made a move towards the Frenchman.

« That's why I want this paper and treaty to be over with as soon as possible, mon cher. » Francis felt his anger slowly wash away, only for a feeling of guilt and embarrassment to take over.   
« But you know just as well as I do that one must make sacrifices, in order to achieve their goals, don't you? »

« If I sign this we know that it isn't going to last long. No matter what I shall do, you will still be going after me, are you not? »  
Ivan knew Francis's leader. He knew that none of this peace that Francis was talking about would last and that eventually, he will come back to make his own and Ivan's people bleed.   
« I don't know if I can trust you as much as your Emperor. »

Francis did not answer.

He felt bad. His stomach felt tight. He started to understand what Ivan implied, in many ways.   
Peace would last, for a certain period of time, at least. That is what he told himself. Enough time to keep the British away, and build up his forces again. Francis knew that the Russian still loved him. But he did not expect the feelings coming from such stoic man to be strong enough to not wash away in the face of danger, blood, war.   
Death.

« Ivan, » Francis stepped closer towards the taller nation, and hesitantly reached up to put a hand on his shoulder. « I did not forget about you, tu sais. »

The hand on his shoulder. It was warm. It wasn't mean. 

He felt his breath shakier.  
That's when he suddenly wrapped an arm around Francis's waist, letting the sealed letter fall to the ground, and cupped Francis's face to bring it closer to his own, tightly shutting his eyes and pressing his lips against the older man's.   
Ivan himself didn't know why he did that, it was instinctive. 

Eyes wide, Francis felt his waist press against the other's, as a fierce, bitter kiss was placed upon his lips. He did not try to get away.   
The cold of the thin lips of his old partner, the scent of his cologne, despite the smell of dried blood and dirt still sticking to him from the fight.

He had missed it.

He had missed him. 

Francis returned the kiss, placing his other arm around the man's back, sourly gripping at his uniform.

Ivan finally broke the kiss.

« I don't want you to leave again, Frashenka. » He was bitter. And he was scared. Scared he would be left to the side by the man he admired and cared for so much, scared he would be rejected and attacked by these same hands that were now around him. He wanted Francis, more than he had thought he would. He wanted to feel his love again, to feel his hands, feel his skin, his breath, feel his attention when readjusting his attire. He never wanted to go to war with him to begin with.

« ...не оставляй меня.... » was all he could utter in a higher pitch this time, a faint cry, as he felt his eyes starting to water. 

Francis knew he wouldn't be able to stay for ever. They both knew it. But tonight, he didn't want to leave Ivan. He just wanted to stay there, talk to him.   
« ...I am sorry, mon cœur. »   
Francis leaned up again, and returned the kiss, more passionate this time.

Ivan eagerly brought the Frenchman closer to him, and tightened his arm around the man's waist. We hesitantly tried to breathe through the kiss in order to slip his tongue through.   
Francis did not fought against him, and parted his lips, letting the other eagerly explore his mouth, almost forcefully, as to try and keep Francis even closer to him, keep his heat for himself.

Ivan's words were soft, yet their impact came like a tundra directly across Francis's face. They resonated in his head, an echo that made him shudder.

Still close to him, Francis broke the kiss, as he started to hesitantly remove the golden laceon on Ivan's uniform, around his collarbone, before unbuttoning the collar and coat that somehow still didn't make the Russian any warmer.

Feeling the French's hands slowly work down his coat, he started lightly kissing the other. First his jaw. Then his neck.   
« I've missed you. » he breathed onto the other's flesh, starting to loosen Francis's collar as well.

Ivan liked these colors on Francis.  
Deep red collar, white chest, golden buttons, and dark Prussian blue coat. Francis's country's colors. They suited the man so well, gold shimmering in the lights of the tent, Ivan noted.

Francis finally removed Ivan's bottle green coat, swiftly placing it on the edge of the meridian.

« Tu m'as manqué aussi, chéri... » Francis felt his heart heavier. Of course he had missed Ivan too.   
Francis's hand went back to his partner, gently opening his large, white undershirt, tucked into his white trousers. He ungloved his hands, placing his bare palms against the Russian's hard and wounded chest, through his now open undershirt. He could feel the other's heart, despite the chilly sensation it brought through his fingertips.

Ivan shuddered.

God, did these fingers felt good on his skin. Ivan let his sadness slowly wash away to be replaced with the comfort his lover brought him again, even if he knew it wasn't going to last.   
He returned the gesture, unbuttoning Francis's own uniform, a bit hastily, while he could feel Francis's gaze up towards his face. He tossed the French's coat, along with his undershirt, leaving the smaller man's hairy chest bare, in his white trousers, matching the white of his now removed uniform.

Francis reached his hands up towards Ivan's neck, wrapping his arms around him, embracing the dear man that used to make him feel so welcome and cared for.   
They stayed there, together, for a minute or so, feeling each other's skin. It wasn't long, but it felt like the world had stop for a moment, unspoken words giving them chills, lips tenderly meeting one another.

Without a warning, Ivan pushed his weight over Francis, making the both of them fall onto the meridian, his arms on both side of the older nation's head beneath him, eyes wide and breath short in surprise at the sudden change of pace.

Bemused, Francis looked at the Russian, and smiled. Not a smirk, nor a a mocking one. But a warm, melancholic smile, that made the other's eyebrow arc in a slightly saddened manner, as he too started smiling back at him.

Ivan felt his cheeks getting warmer. He went back to the man in beneath him, and began leaving butterfly kisses down his neck, nipping a bit at his collarbone.   
The slightest of moan escaped the Frenchman's lips, which Ivan took as a good sign to keep going. His hands followed after his lips, as he started kissing his lover's chest, soft golden hair dusting the flesh there, brushing against his nose. He loved the scent of the older nation. He loved his sounds, his voice, his manners, his culture, his art, his art of war, his skin, his hair, his eyes. He loved him. 

Ivan ungloved his own hands, and started to lick at one of Francis's nipple, while rolling the other between his thumb and index.   
Quiet groans came out though Francis lips, and he felt the mouth of the younger one around his now hard bud. Ivan started biting lightly at the sensitive skin there, earning a louder whimper from the French. He smiled against his heaving chest, and went back down the man's body.

Ivan stopped at the hem of Francis's trousers, backed off a bit and removed the other's high black military gaiters that prevented Ivan from removing said trousers.

Once both were removed, he looked up, lavender eyes and half lidded ocean ones meeting one another. A burning sensation brushed across Francis's face, as he tried to keep his eyes on the lovely man before him.   
He giggled « Hahah, do you need some help with that, mon ange? »

Ivan chuckled back « I am a grown up man now, monsieur. »

He returned to the man below him, slipping his fingers under the hem of his trousers and pants, swiftly removing the both of them. Francis suddenly felt very exposed, the cool of the air making his member twitch slightly. 

That's when Ivan gave a light kiss on Francis's tip, making the older man moan at the contact. Pleased, Ivan placed himself up on his knees on the ground, between the other's legs, spreading them with one hand, taking the Frenchman's balls in the other as he started lowering his mouth on Francis's now hard member.

« Ah,,» Francis tried keeping his eyes on the taller man before him, whom pulled Francis's length out of his mouth to sloppily lick along the side of it, swiping over the tip and shaft, finally taking it whole in his mouth, hand playing with the smaller man's balls, pumping the base of his cock.

Ivan in fact really knew how to please.

Sucking harder, hollowing his cheeks, Francis let out a strangled moan of pleasure, starting to loose himself, as his hand reached down to grip Ivan's smooth silver hair, feeling a knot building in his stomach.   
« Ah, Ivan... »

« Yes? » he breathed against the man's thigh, pulling out from Francis's member with an audible "pop", eyes playfully looking at the other, filling with lust.

Francis did not care much about his pride anymore. He still felt guilty for making the Russian feel so rejected. Of course he loved him, of course he hadn't forgotten about him.

And yet. 

« I want you, Vanya. »   
Indeed, he needed him. He had missed him, so much.

Ivan face's froze for a second at the feeling of being called by his nickname again. He understood what Francis wanted, as well as what he wanted right now.   
And so did he. 

Ivan grinned, crawling back over Francis, straddling himself right over the smaller one's pelvis, above him, up on his knees.   
Surprised at the change in mood, Francis looked up to the Russian as he completely removed his large undershirt. The sight of the strongly built man before him, wounded and defeated, yet so dear to him, made a shiver run down his spine.   
There's always been such a strange charm to him, something that Francis couldn't exactly point out but always caught his attention whenever he saw him.

« Alright then. » in a childish tone, Ivan gave Francis a warm smile, and brought his hand to Francis's face, presenting him two fingers. « May you help me? »

Hesitant, Francis looked back at him, then at the fingers, and started licking Ivan's digits, coating them with saliva, sloppily lapping at the Russian's cold fingers.

Francis's tongue felt warm. He felt more comfortable, more in control (as in control as he could be knowing what will soon happen the next day, anyway.).   
He took the time to admire the French's body, a bit bruised here and there, yet still so charming. Francis always had such a feminine yet built and defined body that he couldn't exactly make out, and he loved every bit of it. 

Francis still working around Ivan's fingers, he reached out to the Frenchman's lace that was holding his ponytail together, feeling the soft luxurious golden locks running along his hand, making the other shiver.

Once he deemed them wet enough, Ivan removed his fingers from Francis's mouth, and scooted a bit backwards, this time placing himself between Francis's legs.

Unceremoniously, he shoved the two fingers into Francis, rewarded with the pleasured sigh he earned from the man.

Francis started loosing his grip, his mind slowly feeling lighter as Ivan began trusting his fingers in and out, preparing him lovingly.   
That's when Ivan added a third finger.

Francis's breath hitched, Ivan taking a particular fun in stretching him wide, listening the the noises he made.

Coming back up to give Francis a swift kiss, he removed his fingers, leaving the other groan, empty.

« Ты такой красивый... » he whispered into Francis's ear. And he meant it, the man really, was beautiful. The sort of creature artists would paint entire canvases of, or create a symphony for.

Ivan went back into place, sliding down his white trousers to his ankles, as he could feel the other's look on him. His hard member sprang free, out of the constricting cloths that started to hurt him.

Francis couldn't help but look at him. Indeed, he had grown since the last time they met. And he wasn't entirely certain as to how pleasurable such length would feel in his ass, which wasn't exactly something that Francis usually worried about. He had to admit, he was in fact, a bit worried.

But he couldn't hold it anymore, his mind couldn't focus on anything else than the man before him, he needed something inside. And he needed him.

« S'il te plaît, Ivan,, please »

He knew Ivan was keeping him waiting on purpose.

« Of course, my dear. »

Ivan started stroking his member, the loviest of blush spreading over his cheeks. He spat in his hand, slicking himself up, and Francis's mildly prepared hole.

Suddenly, something oddly cold started pushing its way inside Francis, making him shriek at the intrusion. Indeed, Ivan was, very big. And he had a reason to worry.

Nonetheless, Ivan pushed himself further into the smaller man, slowly, trying not to hurt him too much.   
Francis whimpered in pain: he hadn't been prepared enough. Not like he could entirely blame Ivan after all: Francis had much more important things to care for for the past few months than his sexual life.

A sting of worry got ahold of Ivan, as he leaned in, apologetic. « Ah, I'm sorry. It'll feel better soon, I promise... »

Francis gave the man a twisted yet wholesome smile in response, he knew Ivan was a great and caring lover, contrary to rumors that have started spreading across Europe recently.

Nothing worst than the rumors that Francis heard about himself anyway. But he liked it. 

Reassured, Ivan straddled himself properly, spreading Francis's legs a bit wider, waiting for Francis to adjust himself.

« I'm alright- ah, please, don't stop- »  
Was all he could utter before Ivan pulled out and pushed right back in, slowly but firmly, making them both moan at the sensation.

Ivan started thrusting into Francis, lovingly, as the other whined in pain, slowly turning into pleasure, feeling Ivan's thick member twitching inside of him. He tried to hold onto the meridian and bit his lips in order to keep his moans to get too loud.

Ivan reached a hand out to hold onto Francis's, clenching harder on his hand as he started thrusting faster now, setting a new pace, trying to find his lover's sweet spot.

Francis's moans still ripped out of his throat though, clinging onto Ivan like a dying man. Suddenly, Ivan grabbed both of Francis's legs to put them over his shoulders, allowing him more space in Francis's tight hole. 

That's when he, started to loose his own mind. Francis's hips rocked against Ivan's, finally keeping up with his rhythm, when one strong, harsh thrust from the Russian made him cry out in pleasure.

« Ah— Ahhh mon dieu, Ivan—! »

Ivan's spine started to tingle, the pleasure of hearing his name in such lewd way by the one he was ready to worship, it felt so good. So close to home.

His face was a bright dust of pink now on his pale face, half lidded eyes taking in the sight of the man sprawled beneath him, as his cock jammed in and out of the tight warmth that engulfed him so nicely.

Francis's mind went completely blank, he didn't care about holding back his moans anymore, the slick of that cock now driving him over the edge.   
« Please— ah Je- Please don't stop, you feel so good Va..nya- »

So close. Ivan wasn't though. He yanked himself into the older man now, pace fast and strong, his weigh making the meridian scout forward, hitting Francis's prostate each time he pushed back in.

Ivan growled in pleasure, forcefully pushing himself forward to give Francis a passionate, sloppy kiss, muttering words of encouragement between moans, a sweet mix of French and Russian that felt like honey to Francis's ears.

Ivan quickly moved to the crook of the other's neck, slamming himself harder in the the helpless man. Francis hissed in pain as Ivan sank his teeth into the soft flesh there, then lovingly nibble at the spot, leaving marks on the clear skin.

God he was close. So close.

Francis felt so right around him. He wanted to hear him, so badly, oh had he missed the man.

He took Francis's erection into his hand, pumping in sync with the rock of his hips against the other's ass. Francis yelped, his legs shaking over Ivan's shoulders, holding onto the furniture and Ivan's hand for dear's life.

Ivan looked up, face twisted in pleasure as his eyes locked with Francis's

Francis felt hot tears running down his cheeks, a wave of feelings and carnal pleasure overwhelming his whole body and mind. He tried the speak but his words weren't coherent anymore. Ivan was about to slow down when a shaky hand reached out to his face. Francis couldn't hold it anymore.   
« Ahh.. Je, je t'aime Ivan— tellement- ah..»

There.

Drooling over his own sentence, Francis came hard onto his own chest and Ivan's hand. Ivan felt his heart jump, his whole body jerk up at the sudden confession.   
He lost it. Again. His own tears started pearling at the end of his eyes as he felt a strong knot in him stomach, making his own legs weak. « Я— »  
Ivan's hips jerked up violently, making the both of them cry out, Ivan's mouth falling open, eyebrows arched, breath short, as he came hard into Francis, filling him completely. 

They both stayed there for a moment, trying to ride out their orgasm. Ivan finally pulled out of Francis, placing his legs down again. Francis jolted himself back up and embraced the younger nation before giving him a long, and tender kiss.

« Ivan... » They both had their eyes filled with tears, yet Ivan was smiling. He felt happy. Francis brushed his thumb over Ivan's wet cheek, drying his tear.

« Я тебя люблю, Фрэнсис. »

Ivan took Francis in his arms, still a bit shaky, as he laid him onto his bed. He went quickly to blow out the candles and lamp, then came back. Francis a bit felt soar, but oh, was he happy. Ivan finally came into bed with him, and Francis hugged the big man from behind.

« I love you too, Ivan. » he breathed against him, leaving a little kiss on his cheek, before pulling him closer to his chest.

Ivan felt safe. He could feel Francis's heartbeat against his pained back. He was safe. He felt at home. He felt loved.   
Smiling, he rested his head against the pillow, both of them drifting away into sleep, calm, and tenderness.

The next morning, Ivan woke up to an empty bed, not feeling so disappointed about it, surprisingly. He could still smell Francis's scent on his bed sheets.

The sunlight was making its way through the tent, making him slowly get up, promptly dress up, and pick up the sealed envelope that was on the ground. He opened it, and signed the paper, placing it safely into the inner pocket of his coat.

Something else on the ground caught his attention. It was another letter, the one that Francis had kept for himself yesterday night. Curious, he approached it, and took it in his hands.

It read « Dear Sir I. Braginsky »  
Puzzled, Ivan opened the letter, and started reading it.

« Cher Ivan,

I do not exactly know how to tell you this, but you should've gotten this letter along with the other one I left you. Normally, I would not be allowed such action, but I did so regardless.

I do plan on making my empire stronger, and my people proud. Your royalty do not scare us in anyway whatsoever, and we shan't back down.

However, I wanted to let you know something even more important, to my person, at least.

You have, and always have been, a great opponent, and I feel honored to have been granted to opportunity to fight against such loyal and experienced man such as you, your tsar, and your people. I never hated you, and hope that some day, we will find a way to find our neutral grounds again.   
Best regards,

F. Bonnefoy

Ps: Je t'aime de tout mon cœur, mon amour. Please remember that. »

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Translation:
> 
> Mon cher: my dear (male)  
Tu sais = you know   
не оставляй меня = don't leave me   
Mon cœur = my heart   
Tu m'as manqué aussi, chéri = I've missed you too, darling (male)  
Mon ange = my angel  
Monsieur = sir  
Vanya = Russian nickname for Ivan, sign of affection   
Ты такой красивый = you are so beautiful (male)  
S'il te plaît = please  
Mon dieu = my god   
Je = I  
Je t'aime tellement = I love you so much   
Я = I  
Я тебя люблю, Фрэнсис = I love you, Francis  
Cher = dear  
Je t'aime de tout mon cœur, mon amour = I love you from the bottom of my heart/ with all my heart


End file.
